


All That We Owe

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fereldan politics, Rough Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29784723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Elissa didn't agree with Nathaniel - nor was she particularly fond of him - but she certainly understood him.Relationships had been built on less.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	All That We Owe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JCHB322](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCHB322/gifts).



> Set during Awakening

To Elissa Cousland, Nathaniel Howe was a man of few words and even fewer gentle ones. It wasn’t an unexpected attitude, given the circumstances, but it was honestly a problem that Elissa had never particularly thought to encounter. 

When she had exacted her blood-right against Rendon Howe, the man’s children were the furthest thing from her mind. It wasn’t until later in the evening that she’d spared a thought for gentle Delilah, the sweet young girl with a pearled hairnet who had shown her how to braid wildflowers into her hair the day the Howe boys had play-acted a tourney, and who had blushed so prettily when Fergus dubbed her the queen of their event. 

Elissa had firmly doubted Delilah would’ve been complicit with her father’s actions. She was less certain regarding the brothers. Tommy, a brash young boy, was the sort to obey his father without question. Firstborn Nathaniel, on the other hand, was eager to please his father, but seemed unable to do so. 

She remembered the first year that Howe had arrived at Highever without his eldest in tow. Eleanor had greeted him in the main hall, Elissa trailing behind her. 

“Will Nathaniel not be joining us, Lord Howe?” Eleanor had asked politely, hands clasped in front of her. 

“Not this time, my lady,” Howe had replied, a slight downturn to his lip. 

If Eleanor had noticed his expression, she did not comment on it. 

“A pity,” she’d hummed. “He and Fergus get along famously.” 

The young had Elissa said nothing; Nathaniel had outshone her at in the local tourney the year previously and she was still sore about it. She had not, therefore, thought to question why the firstborn son of the arl of Amaranthine had been absent. 

All in all, perhaps she might have spared more of a thought for the man whose father she had rightfully put down, but it was difficult to imagine the reaction or complicity of an individual whom she had not seen face to face in years. 

There had been a strange disparity then, when she saw him sitting in the cell at Amaranthine. 

The last time she had seen Nathaniel, he had been a young man; slightly on the gangly side but well above a head taller than her. The man in the cell had trained under a chevalier for nearly a decade, evening out his height with the trained muscle from the ways of war. She had seen the bow in the confiscated goods, and noted silently that he certainly had the biceps to match it. 

His outright hostility was what had shocked her most; the barbed words by the man five years her senior regarding matters that he knew little about. In the cell, hearing him accuse her of unlawful murder, she wondered again as to his complicity - stowed away in the Free Marches, had he been unaware of his father’s actions? But she remembered the eager way that he had trailed after his father on their visits; an attentive gleam in his eye as he hung onto Rendon Howe’s every word. 

This was not malicious complicity; this was a son’s loyalty to an idealised - and fictional - father. 

Elissa had straightened her back, soothing her temper in the face of Nathaniel’s cold words - she would not trades insults with an opponent who was not truly seated at the same table - and gave him his choice to join the Wardens. 

Once it was over and done with - and she was sure he wasn’t going to slip a knife in her turned back - she left him standing alone in the hall of the fortress that had once been his home. 

Their relationship had been...strange, to say the least. A string was stretched taut between them, while there were terse and few words exchanged when necessary, they avoided the other like the plague. That was surprisingly easy to accomplish inside the walls of Vigil’s Keep, but political events called for necessary sacrifices. 

Elissa had suspected it would be so from the moment of her assignment, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that the arling would likely never settle under Grey Warden rule. Too many still remembered the threat of Sophia Dryden, and now having the Warden Commander be a Cousland was even more grating - the Cousland support of Sophia still deeply embedded in the minds of the public two centuries on. 

As such, she had deemed it prudent to have Nathaniel present during most political affairs. Even her most obvious staunch opponents had a moment of hesitation after seeing the firstborn Howe at her side. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Nathaniel told her one evening, stalking into the dining room where she lurked at the head of the table long after the others had retired. 

She glanced up from her book, braid loose down one side of her chest and her linen tunic crumpled from leaning over the pages. 

“I’m always doing many things, Nathaniel,” she replied, weariness softening her tone. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.” 

His scowl deepened. 

“The nobles, the meetings with anyone of note,” he continued, coming closer to her. “Parading me before them like some prized  _ bull _ .” 

Reaching forward, he slammed the palm of his hand down on the table, jolting her awake through the vibration. 

With a stab of irritation, she bit back. 

“I wouldn’t call you a bull,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’re more like a  _ bear _ , I believe.” 

His hand clenched against the table, his eyes darkening; her words having thrown the ancestral Howe sigil of a bear back at him as a reminder of what had been taken from him. 

She felt a stab of guilt, and she lowered her gaze back down to the table. 

“I apologise, that was uncalled for,” Elissa said, before sighing and meeting his eyes with an even expression. “You are correct; I am taking advantage of your reputation here in order to soothe any unrest. I am aware that it might seem...callous, but I assure you there is good reason for it.” She paused, momentarily unsure, before adding: “Forgive me.” 

“I will not,” he replied without hesitation. “But not because of this.” 

A wave of exasperation came over her, but she pushed it down just as quickly; her mother’s old adage of compassion over derision forefront in her mind. How easy it must have been for Nathaniel Howe in his long absence to create an image of a father in his head that had never existed; a fictional man truly worthy of such a crusade of vengeance. 

“I...understand,” Elissa said slowly, because she had the truth of the situation, whereas Nathaniel refused to hear of it. 

His eyes narrowed. 

“Do not patronise me.” He shook his head. “You owe me that, at the very least.” 

A stab of anger ran through her - something akin to the fury in her when she had stood on the steps of Arl Eamon’s Denerim estate, facing down her family’s murderer, and had been  _ denied  _ her blood right because of Loghain’s fucking politics. 

“I owe you  _ nothing _ ,” she hissed, the Cousland spitfire hissing through her teeth before she tempered it once more, soothing her expression before their civil-enough conversation became too heated. “I am retiring for the evening, I suggest you do the same.” 

But Howe was not as trained as she was at calming her temper. 

“Is that it?” He asked, trailing at her side as she approached the doorway. “That’s all you have to say?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You drag my family’s name through the mud but then exploit it when the need arises?” 

Her hand clenched around the handle of the door, as she whirled around to face him.

“Go to  _ bed,  _ Nathaniel,” Elissa repeated, lid on her anger loose and threatening to come undone. “I will not speak any more of this.” 

She left him behind in the dining hall, hearing his faint curse under his breath. Her hands refused to stop shaking - not from any sort of fear, but out of a strange sort of anger; a resentment at how utterly backwards and unfair this whole situation was. 

Nathaniel Howe had been a kind young man; the few times they’d interacted, they’d spoken of books and she’d gushed about her favourite tales. He’d laughed good-naturedly at her admiration of ancient heroes and had given his own recommendations. 

It was difficult to reconcile that young man man with the Nathaniel Howe in the dining room. It wasn’t like she wanted him to apologise for his father’s actions - she was certain now that he was not complicit in them - but she certainly wished she could go a single day without him implying that  _ she  _ was the cold-hearted murderer. 

Somewhere, it appeared that the Maker had finally decided to ease her burden. 

Delilah Howe had not been graced with absence to shield her from their father’s wrongdoings. She was quick to dispel any of Nathaniel’s notions, and Elissa was more than happy to leave siblings alone to discuss the truth of the matter. 

She had been told by Velanna that evening that Nathaniel had returned to the keep, but Elissa had seen neither hide nor hair of him. 

In fact, it was not until a week later that he visited her, once more easily rooting her out from one of her favoured haunts in the evening. 

He knocked on the library door to announce his presence, and she felt a sense of deja vu as she glanced up at him from over wide books and piles of parchment and ink. 

“Good evening,” he said, even-toned. He remained outside in the hallway. “Might I have a moment?” 

Slowly, Elissa pulled one of the books shut, indicating her audience, and allowed her hands to fold on top of her lap. 

“Of course,” she replied softly, straightening up. 

He was tall enough to have to bend ever-so-slightly to descended the few steps into the sunken room - the library was old, and the room was tucked out of the way within the keep. In the candlelight, he looked perfectly at home beside the shelves of books - but then again, she supposed he  _ was _ at home. 

He was silent for a moment, looking to the wall where a small window gave a view of the forested mountains. 

“When my father sent me to the Free Marches,” Nathaniel began quietly, still glancing out to the mountainside, “I believed it was my fault; that there was some inherent weakness inside me that only my father had been able to see.” He paused, pursing his lips slightly before continuing. “He was a…  _ hero  _ to me, and so I accepted his judgement of my character without question. I needed to be better, to live up to my father’s image.” 

Elissa wanted to speak, but held her tongue to let the man say his piece. 

He cleared his throat, stepping close to the fireplace near the window. 

“My sister has...allowed me to see the truth of that image,” he continued. “To understand that...our father was not a man one should wish to emulate.” The words were slow, as though saying them still helped him process them. 

There was a steady silence in the room, broken by the cracks coming from the fireplace in the corner. 

He raised his head, turning slightly to be able to meet her eyes from where he stood. His face was glowing in the firelight but his eyes were low; making his expression difficult to discern. 

“I have no right to ask,” he began softly, hands clasped behind him. “Do you hate me?” 

Elissa paused. 

“No.” She replied truthfully, and sighed, fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of her casual tunic. “I was angry at you, but I… made myself understand you.” 

He grimaced, as though the words pained him. 

“You should not have had to,” Nathaniel muttered, glancing back to the fire. 

“No,” she agreed. “But I did.” 

There was a beat of silence once more. 

“It is difficult for me to process the...truth,” he said lowly. “But I know that no apology I make could ever undo what he has done.” 

She frowned, shaking her head. 

“I never wanted you to apologise for your father, Nathaniel,” Elissa replied. “I know you had no part in what he did.” 

“And yet, I managed to blindly serve his bitter cause, even in his death.” He scowled, the expression aimed more so at himself than her.

He unclasped his hands and came to her side, pausing for just a moment before lowering himself to his knee before her. 

“Elissa,” Nathaniel began, hesitant in his intimate address, but painfully earnest in his eyes, “I am...so sorry for the pain I have caused you.”

The older Nathaniel she had seen since coming to Vigil’s Keep had been a man of harsh words, but in this moment, she saw the hint of the young man she had known once more. 

In the months following, the tension between them began to soften. To her pleasant surprise, Nathaniel was proactive in their affairs, engaging more heavily in his interactions with the nobles of Vigil’s Keep; where he had once been a silent figurehead looming in the background, he was now making an effort to cultivate any goodwill among the people. 

The people of Amaranthine remembered the firstborn Howe well, it seemed; where they were leery of Grey Warden rule, they softened when it came to Nathaniel. Elissa was almost fascinated to see a charismatic man mingle with the people who were once to be his future subjects; there was a familiar ease to him as he rekindled the relationship with his home. 

Once, the Grey Warden representative - an ever-watchful eye over the administration of Amaranthine - had taken Elissa aside to deliver a private warning. 

“Ensure you do not rely too heavily on that man, Warden-Commander,” Woolsey had warned, eyes narrowed. “It is of vital importance that Amaranthine does not expect a Howe in power.” 

She could understand the cause of concern, but Elissa could not help a slight feeling of doubt. 

She finally took the offensive and sought Nathaniel out himself, finding him by the training yard, sending arrow after arrow into the target with impeccable accuracy. 

It was only an hour after their recent meeting with one of the more prolific traders in the north, and she had replaced her uniform for a dress of Cousland blue with silver embroidery for the affair. Nathaniel, of course, had been present, and she had been startled to see him in a doublet of marigold and white - the Amaranthine colours. 

“My grandfather’s,” he had answered the questioning glance she gave him. He said nothing else, but she saw the tension in his entire body. 

The meeting was lucrative; the trader well-versed with Ferelden politics and understanding what the combination of Howe and Cousland meant for the stability of the region - and therefore, the prospects of profit. Elissa was glad of their success, but couldn’t rid herself of doubt. 

She had not changed before seeking him out at the training ground. Nathaniel, it appeared, had immediately rid himself of his grandfather’s doublet; replacing it with a simple long-sleeved tunic. 

“I don’t want your guilt, Nathaniel.” She shook her head, mulling over her words and not liking them. “I mean, I don’t want you to be hurting yourself because you feel like you owe me.” 

He paused, not glancing back towards her but not pulling out his next arrow either. 

“I am not doing this for a debt,” he finally replied, not elaborating as he notched and released his arrow. 

It was, of course, perfectly aimed. 

“Aren’t you?” Elissa said, eyes narrowed as she stepped closer to the fence separating them. “I know it hurt you to wear the colours of your house, knowing it is no longer yours.” 

She saw him tense. 

“I am willing to suffer discomfort for the arling’s benefit,” he said, still refusing to look at her. “And for yours.” 

That was what she was afraid of. 

“I don’t want your pain, Nathaniel,” she said, clenching her fists into the long, embroidered sleeves of her dress. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself out of some misguided sense of debt.” 

“Maker’s tears,” she heard him mutter as he released his next arrow. He scowled as it landed slightly off mark, and instead of pulling another from the quiver, he turned to face her. “I am doing nothing to pay you a debt, Elissa.” He met her eyes with something unreadable in his expression. “I am doing it simply for you.” 

She blinked, a pleasant afternoon breeze ruffling the hem of her dress as she frowned. 

“And what is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” She asked with a slight shrug. 

He sighed, setting his quiver down to lean on a nearby post as he came to stand opposite her; the barrier of the fence dividing them. 

“You wanted the trade deal, I made sure you got it,” he replied, the breeze pulling strands of his hair loose from his braid. “You want to show people that I support you? I will not lie in showing it.” He scoffed out something like a laugh. “Maker’s tears, if you asked me for the world, Elissa, I believe I could find some way to try and give it to you.” 

Not expecting such strength behind his words, all Elissa could really do was stare at him with wide eyes.

“Oh,” she simply replied. Shaking her head slightly, she cleared her throat as tried to avoid the flush rising to her cheeks. “Well, I...was not expecting that.” 

Nathaniel’s own skin had reddened, and he was now trying to avoid glancing at her at all. 

She processed what he had said slowly, understanding the implications, and yet stubbornly only able to really focus on one thing. 

“If I asked for the  _ world _ ?” She repeated, frowning a little bit. “Why would I ask for the world?” 

He huffed out something like an incredulous laugh. 

“A figure of speech,” Nathaniel replied, almost wryly. “I’d rather you didn’t ask for that, actually; it would be rather inconvenient.” 

A small, shy invitation of a smile pulled at her lips. 

“Well, now I’m just curious, you know.” 

“Forget I said anything,” he sighed, but the words lacked any heat. 

She paused, tugging loosely on the hem of her sleeve.

“I don’t want to,” Elissa replied, serious once more. “Forget...that is; I don’t want to forget what you said.” 

He frowned, tearing himself away from her for a moment. 

“Elissa, I...am more than willing to travel down this path,” he began lowly. “But are you truly comfortable with this?” 

Elissa couldn’t help but scoff, a smile at her lips. 

“Nathaniel Howe, when have I ever been unwilling to speak my mind?” 

“There’s always a first time for everything.” 

“Perhaps,” she shrugged, and leaned forward on the fence. “Then be assured that this is not it.” 

Elissa had been pleasantly surprised to see how compatible they were in the political sense, but it paled in comparison to how well they worked in intimacy. 

He was taller than her, and could hold her up with ease; something she greatly appreciated when he fucked her against the wall of the library one evening. 

Her arm was clasped around his shoulders, using it to ground herself with his movements; clenching tightly around him at nearly every thrust. 

His hands were like a vice against the underside of her thighs; hefting her up to push her against the wall, keeping her above him so that gravity could help with the momentum. The position was new to her, allowing him to hit deep, sensitive places within her that made her dig her nails into his skin and muffle her squeals within the cradle of his shoulder. 

“Do you know how hard it is,” he began, the words spoken in a broken breath against her neck, “to not push you into the nearest corner and fuck you senseless every time you look at me like  _ that?”  _

The words took a moment to process, as he’d chosen that moment to give a particularly rough thrust that made her clench, tightening her thighs around his waist for some sort of grounding relief. Once she realised what he’d said, she huffed out a breathy laugh - perfectly aware of the look he was referring to; it had been the suggestive glance she’d been shooting him all afternoon, through every meeting whenever their company happened to be looking their way. 

“Payback,” she explained, rolling her hips down as best as she could given the position. “You wanted to play with my control yesterday, I get to play with yours.” 

She was referring to the previous evening, in which she had spent most of the night tied down with Nathaniel’s head between her legs; the man using her lack of mobility as an opportunity to edge her until she was a babbling mess. Not that she was minded - the payout had been well worth it, after all. 

But she’d still spent the day trying to get him to crack in turn, and  _ Maker,  _ but it had been worth it. She’d barely entered the library before he’d had her pushed against the wall, tugging at the bodice strings of the dress she’d wisely chosen to wear. 

His hands were rougher than usual, aiming to leave whatever mark they could on her skin, and she loved it. A part of her  _ wanted  _ him to mark her, she wanted the satisfaction of glancing in the mirror the following day to see his fingerprints all across her in the way that practically broadcasts a well-fucked status. 

They were yet to technically move to a more official level - Woolsey and therefore the Wardens would certainly not approve; perceiving the man as a threat to the delegation of the arling to their cause. 

But for now, they were content to live with stolen moments. And if they happened to wait until the arling had gotten a little bit too used to Nathaniel and Elissa before they let it slip that there was something between them?

Pure coincidence. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
